If the Fates Allow
by piccolina789
Summary: Christmas, GSR style.


**A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you! I hope you enjoy a little Christmas fluff :)**

* * *

Christmas came on a Sunday that year.

He had, somehow, gotten the night off. Seniority, he supposed. The two new, young CSIs he had met only earlier that month were working the shift with Brass. Catherine was also at home, at her daughter's side for Lindsey's first Christmas.

He had dug up the tree in the basement that year. He didn't know why. It was a fake one, small and with bent branches. Half of its lights were out. There were only a dozen or so ornaments on it, most of which had been sent by his mother over the years. It was pitiful, and he knew it.

Somehow, the tree seemed to reflect a lot in his life. Empty. Small. A little lonely. But it was still a Christmas tree. He was still there, celebrating it.

There were two lone presents under the tree. Earlier that day, there had been more. Placed there to make himself feel better, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. But they had been distributed at the end of shift. One for Catherine, one of the few people he could count as a true friend. She had invited him for drinks after shift yesterday. But he knew a pity invitation when he saw one. He had politely declined and handed her another gift that had previously occupied the tree, for Lindsey.

Another wrapped gift had gone to Brass, two others to Nick and Warrick, although they were impersonal gift cards. He had yet to know them well enough to buy anything else.

The two presents that remained were both unmistakably marked by those who had wrapped them. He could tell his mother's touch right away, from the curvy handwriting on the envelope to the sparkly green paper with reindeer prancing over it. His mother had always loved reindeer. He often thought it was a particular affection for Rudolph.

He reached for the present now, giving it a shake as he used to do as a child before running his finger along the tape and slitting the wrapping open. Inside was a wooly blue sweater, folded neatly, and, on top of it, a magnifying glass. Grissom picked up the second item and examined it. He recognized it as the same glass he used as a kid, to examine bugs. He couldn't help but smile. His mother was always finding and sending small relics from his childhood. He had a whole shelf dedicated to them.

He put the box containing the sweater carefully beside him and reached for the second and last package. This too, was distinctly her. The perfectly arranged bow. The neat wrapping. The short strips of tape every half inch or so around the crease of paper. The scribbley writing. _To Grissom. From Sara._

He fingered the package before he opened it. He could almost swear that he could smell her perfume on the paper. He imagined her wrapping it, her fingers gliding over he very paper he touched now, perhaps humming softly as she wrote on the tag. He hadn't seen her in over a year. Hadn't talked to her in at least two months. And yet she thought to send him a gift on Christmas. He hadn't sent one to her. He hated himself for it.

He unwrapped the present and found a small ornament inside, a trolley car with the words "San Francisco" stamped along the side. He had ridden a car just like this one, except it was life-sized and a laughing Sara was on his arm, the wind making rosy patches on her cheeks and whipping her hair around her face.

He swallowed hard and replaced one of the tree's old ornaments with the new one. He stared at it for a while, perhaps hoping that if he looked at the two words long and hard enough, he could take himself there, while flickering flames from the fire reflected on its shiny surface.

An hour ago, he had been perfectly content to sit by the fire, accompanied only by a steaming mug of eggnog and his mother's favorite Christmas album. But now, the eggnog was cold, and something was missing. He reached for the cordless phone, longing to fill the emptiness with her voice. His heart dropped when he got her voicemail.

_You've reached Sara Sidle. Leave a message at the tone._

He was about to hang up. She was probably out with friends or visiting with family. It was, after all, Christmas. But he opened his mouth and somehow made words come out.

"Hi, Sara," he said. "It's me. It's, uh… it's Grissom. Hey, uh, I wanted to thank you for the present. I just opened it. It's… that was really nice of you. Thank you."

He let his voice trail off as memories of her flashed through his mind. How bright her eyes got when she was excited. How the Californian sun reflected in her hair. How soft her lips were during the most intimate moment they had shared, when he had kissed her.

"Merry Christmas, Sara," he said softly.

He ended the call and stared at the phone in his lap before adding what she wouldn't hear when she checked her voice mail.

"I miss you."

* * *

Christmas came on a Wednesday that year.

He and Catherine had just closed a case, and she had scurried off in time to scarf down the cookies and milk left on a platter and wake Lindsey. Warrick was at a scene. Nick was back in Texas for the week, using his vacation days to make it to his sister's baby shower and his family's Christmas in one go. Sara… he didn't know where she was. He felt like he hardly saw her these days.

He sighed as he initialed a few pages of paperwork before a voice from the door startled him.

"Good night."

He looked up to see Sara standing before him, her long, lean form leaning against the doorframe. He ignored the familiar flip in his stomach and managed to smile at her.

"Good night, Sara."

She paused a few seconds, giving him a half-smile back. She had almost turned away before he remembered.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Sara!"

She turned back around, inclining her head slightly. He opened his top desk drawer.

"I, uh… I have something for you."

He pulled out a decently wrapped package, topped with a bow he'd spent more time on then he'd care to admit. In the top right corner was a tag with a simple, _To Sara, From Grissom. _

She took a few steps towards his desk.

"I thought we weren't doing Secret Santa this year," she said. "I know we did last year, Greg got me that ridiculous hat, but everyone was so busy that-"

Grissom held up his hand to stop her.

"This isn't from a Secret Santa," he said. "It's just… from me."

Sara shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't expect you to."

She studied him a few moments before coming closer, taking the package from his hand, and sitting hesitantly on the seat before him. She unwrapped the package with careful precision. She smiled when she saw what was inside, and he felt his heart beat a little faster.

"_Forensic Entomology_," she read aloud. "_The Minority Champion of Science_."

She looked up at him and smiled, and for a second, she didn't look tired, or confused or frustrated. She looked like the Sara who had laughed on the trolley car in San Francisco.

"With luck, maybe I can join the seven people who understand this Latin stuff," she joked. "Or maybe I'll just understand you."

A beat passed.

"Thanks, Griss."

"You're welcome, Sara."

Another beat.

He cleared his throat to thwart the silence.

"I, uh… added notes in the margins," he added while she flipped through the pages. "Extra material I thought you'd find interesting."

"I'm sure I'll find it illuminating and instructive," she teased, her lips pursing slightly. More butterflies swirled in Grissom's stomach.

She gave him another small smile before gathering up the torn wrapping paper and making her way back towards the door. She paused to once again lean her shoulder against the doorframe.

"Merry Christmas."

Grissom smiled at her fondly, her frame highlighted in the doorway.

"Merry Christmas, Sara."

She turned and made her way down the hallway and out of the lab. He stared at the place she had just stood and whispered the words she couldn't hear.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Christmas came on a Tuesday that year.

Grissom had nearly broken his back trying to haul in the live, nine-foot tall pine tree into his townhouse. And had cursed loudly trying to get it to stand upright in its place. Sara had chided him for it.

"Now that's not the Christmas spirit, is it?"

He would have thought she would have been opposed to chopping down a live, perfectly healthy tree, the environmentalist she was. But instead, she had insisted on purchasing the biggest tree in the lot, and decking it out with every ornament she could rustle up from both her apartment and his townhouse. When they covered only half the tree, they had resorted to desperate measures, stringing popcorn together and gluing glitter on cutout construction paper stars to cover the rest of the tree's empty branches. It looked like a five-year-old had decorated it. That had made Sara love it even more.

It had been the first Christmas Grissom had hoped to have off in a long while, and, incredibly, both he and Sara had secured the night off. They had decorated the tree, cooked dinner, baked cookies, thrown fistfuls of flour at each other until they both resembled one of the ghosts from "A Christmas Carol", showered together to get the stuff off of them, and curled up together under a blanket to watch "It's a Wonderful Life."

As the credits rolled across the screen, Sara leaned over and kissed him deeply. Her lips were just as soft as they were that first time. And the second, and the third…

He kissed her neck and she sighed in to his ear. She planted several small kisses on his face before looking him in the eye.

"Time for presents?"

He smiled at her.

"Time for presents."

There were still only two packages under the tree that year. They had agreed on only giving one each. But as Sara sat cross-legged in front of their towering tree, his gift to her in his lap, and hers to him in his hands, it somehow felt a lot less empty that it used to.

"You first," she urged.

He unwrapped the gift, Sara-stamped with the perfect bow and wrapping, to unveil a shadow box with a single, framed butterfly.

"Palos Verdes Blue," he breathed. "The rarest butterfly in the world."

He looked up at her in amazement.

"Where did you get it?"

She grinned at him.

"I have my ways. Do you like it?"

"Honey, I love it," he said. "Thank you."

He leaned across to kiss her, cupping her face in his hand.

"Now you," he said when they broke apart.

The box he had wrapped was much smaller, but she gasped just as loud when she opened it.

"Oh," she sighed. "It's beautiful."

She pulled a delicate chain from the box, with a small, round stone hanging from it.

"It's a purple diamond," he explained, loving the astonished look on her face. "Rare and beautiful. Just like you."

She looked up at him, without words, but the emotion on her face doing all the talking. He edged around the discarded wrapping paper and took the chain from her hands, draping it around her neck. He fastened it from behind, then turned her around to face him.

The gem rested on her collarbone. Her fingers were trembling as she touched it.

"How does it look?"

He looked straight into her eyes.

"Beautiful."

Sara half-sobbed and half-laughed, but then pushed herself against him, kissing him with such tenacity that he thought he might melt right into he floorboards. He reluctantly broke away, wanting to give her one last surprise before the night was over. He reached behind the tree and pulled out another small, wrapped box.

"Gil," she protested. "We said only one gift!"

"It cost me two dollars," he countered, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Open it."

She took the box and unwrapped it, too, opening it to find an ordinary-looking brass key. Ordinary for a key, perhaps, but extraordinary in meaning. Sara fingered it and looked at him.

"I want you to have it," he said. "If that means you use it to come and go, or use it full-time, it doesn't matter. But this isn't my home anymore, it's our home, and I wanted to make it official. Will you take it?"

Sara gave him a very watery smile and edged closer to him so that she sat between his legs, facing him. She buried her face in his neck, her hand in his curls.

"Of course I'll take it," she whispered.

Her fingers traced his ears, jaw line and lips as her head drew nearer to his until they were nose-to-nose.

"I have another present for you too," she breathed.

"I thought we said just one."

"Don't worry," she said, so softly now he could barely hear her over the crackle of the fire. "This one cost me zero dollars."

She pressed her lips against his, and everything in the world went dark and quiet. Nothing existed except him and her. She was the only real thing in the world, Sara. Touching her, holding her, kissing her. The feel of her hair sweeping against his chest and the warmth of her bare thigh against his. In a whirl of pants and moans and kisses, they made love on the wooly blanket in front of the fire, with the dog trying hard not to watch from the couch above. It was the best Christmas he'd ever had, and by far, the best Christmas gift he'd ever received.

They lied intertwined in each other afterwards, both of their fingers still stroking various parts of each other's bodies. Grissom couldn't stop touching her, kissing her, staring at her. Eventually, she gave him the night's last long, lingering kiss before settling into his arms.

"Merry Christmas," she murmured into his chest.

"Merry Christmas, Sara."

Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing became slow and even. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered words that she wouldn't hear, but already knew.

"I love you."

* * *

**The End**


End file.
